Page 46 of You Rock My World
But I’m not the one who has to put everything on the line to make it happen. When the time comes, when Josie will have to choose between me and her career, between me and her anonymity—her family’s privacy—will she think I’m worth the price?
I hope she will because I’d give it all up for her.
26
JOSIE
The day after Dorian meets my family, I drive to Inglewood, where he has a rehearsal for the VMAs.The freaking VMAs.He has to perform for the opening ceremony next Wednesday, and I’ll get to be backstage. I only ever watched the awards on TV, and now I’m dating—sort of—the major star. Whenever I remember how famous Dorian is, it blows my mind.
The giant indoor arena looms ahead as I pull up in the parking lot and kill the engine. I check my watch. I’m earlier than I need to be. Should I wait in the car? Nah. Dorian is performing in there, and I don’t want to miss a single note.
The hot concrete radiates through my sandals as I approach the massive building. Getting inside is disorienting, the blazing sunlight snuffed out in dim light, the air instantly cooler. And the backstage corridors are a confusing tangle of dead ends and identical doors. It’s a maze. After a few wrong turns, I finally stop to ask a staffer for directions.
The young woman, wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, gives me a once-over, and I suddenly feel conscious of my outfit—jeans and a T-shirt with Dorian’s first album cover on it. She could assume I’m some crazed fan, but instead of calling security, she eyes my pass and smiles.
“Follow me.”
She leads me through the labyrinthine hallways, and I take mental notes of the turns so I don’t get lost again. We pass various backstage areas, until finally, the staffer opens a door and gestures for me to enter.
I step through and my breath catches. The auditorium is massive, with endless rows of empty seats that circle the stage. The arena floor is a good hundred yards away, but as I hop down the steps in the center aisle, I can pick out Dorian on the platform, joking with the band.
I take him in from a distance as I keep walking. It’s impossible to reconcile the easygoing man who had dinner with my family last night with the legend standing on stage now. He’s wearing an intricately embroidered black velvet vest, left open over his muscular chest and abs, paired with fitted, leather pants detailed with side lacing that crisscrosses along his thighs. The outfit is edgy, rebellious, and so far removed from the Dorian I’m getting used to, it leaves me momentarily stunned.
He looks different up on set. Taller, more imposing. The spotlights give his dark hair a glossy sheen, and his trademark smirk is in full effect. This is the Rian Phoenix the world knows—the rock god. It’s a little surreal because to me he’s just… Dorian. The guy who keeps a stack of worn paperbacks by his bed and gives great hugs.
Dorian turns mid-laugh, as if sensing my arrival, just as I hop off the last step. When his gaze lands on me, the warmth in his grin shifts into something more intimate, only mine. My heart was spinning like a wheel while I watched him unnoticed. But his sudden focus is a crowbar in the spokes that brings the poor organ to a jarring halt and sends it slamming into my ribs.
Dorian waves me over, gives a nod to the band to take five, and steps to the edge of the platform, squatting down.
“Hi,” I breathe, hesitantly stepping forward until I’m looking up into those icy-blue eyes from under the stage.
Dorian leans down, resting his forearms on his knees. “Hey, beautiful, did you come to steal the show? Should I warn the band to pack up?”
A grin breaks across my face, wide and unrestrained, making my cheeks ache in the best way. Gosh, he’s so cheesy sometimes—and I love it.
“Only if stealing the show involves tripping over a mic cord. The band can stay.”
Dorian tilts his head. “Does the idea of tripping on cords always make you smile like that, or am I having an exceptionally good hair day?”
His hair is intentionally disheveled like always to give him that just-rolled-out-of-bed sexy vibe he “rocks” so well. But today, my gaze drifts lower to the tantalizing strip of skin visible between the lapels of his vest and the waistband of his low-slung pants. Then back up, taking in his broad shoulders and muscular, bare arms. “It’s more the display of muscles and bad-boy leathers than the hair…”
When I meet his gaze again, I notice his eyes are rimmed in black, the eyeliner accentuating their unnatural brightness, making the crystalline blue of his irises seem otherworldly. I swallow my initial reaction, determined not to look completely smitten. And fight to keep a straight face as I tease him about it. “Uh, and I finally get to see the guyliner.”
Dorian hops off the stage, landing in front of me with a soft thud. “Glad you approve.” He widens his arms, letting the vest fall open a little more as he flexes his abs. “Though, let’s be honest, it’s hard not to.”
I shake my head, still beaming. “I don’t know what’s worse, that you said that or that you can get away with it.”
His smirk deepens as he takes a slow step closer. I feel like prey being stalked. “Something else I can get away with today?”
I lift my eyebrows in mock-suspicion. “Like what?”
Dorian shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’d take anything… how about a good-luck kiss before the show?”
I shift my stance at the fluttering in my stomach as if I could physically sidestep his suggestion. “That’s against the rules, and this is a rehearsal.”
“Always so strict.” His voice is velvet—pure temptation. It lands somewhere deep in my core where someone must’ve started melting honey, a warm gooeyness spreading everywhere. “Weren’t you supposed to get here after the sound check? You’re early. Couldn’t wait to see me?”
I narrow my eyes, determined not to let him fluster me further. “Actually, I was hoping Harry Styles would show up.”
